Strategies
by padfoot-is-better-than-you
Summary: Sirius knows what he wants. He just has to play his cards right in order to get it.
1. Transfiguration

**Well hi, it's been quite a while. This is naught but a taster of what is to come (hopefully), so hang in there and you may see more.**

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing; this is mere fiction based around characters created by JK Rowling.**_

Lolling back in his chair, Sirius flung both arms behind his back and, hands joined, pushed them out in a stretch so satisfying that he let out a small groan. Although nobody else seemed to hear him over McGonagall's explanation of a new spell, he saw from the corner of his vision the involuntary flicker of an adjacent Remus' eyes towards him. Allowing what he very well knew to be his very most dashing smirk to glide onto his face, Sirius felt a little ball of satisfaction bloom in the centre of his chest. It was only when he noted a cough and a subtle shift from the brown-haired boy beside him that Sirius ripped a small piece from the corner of his parchment and scrawled out a note in handwriting which managed to look both refined and elegant despite his speed.

He slid it sideways towards Remus, trying not to be noticed as he watched carefully for any kind of reaction from the werewolf.

'_Are you going to be off studying like a prat tonight, or are you going to join us for a bit of fun?'_ read the note. A small furrow showed between Remus' eyebrows –doubtless at the part about him being a prat– but his face otherwise remained relatively free of expression, meaning that Sirius was forced to wait and see what Remus scribbled by way of messy reply.

'_Who's "us"? And that depends what kind of fun. If it's an orgy, you can count me out._' The barely-repressed grin on Remus' face showed how clever he thought he was being. He was lucky that Sirius was used to humouring him.

Reading this response, Sirius shot Remus a look that was meant to convey a strong sense of disappointment at his lack of trust, and to plead him to grow up. Probably though, this meaning wasn't properly conveyed, as Remus chose to ignore him in favour of jotting down something or other McGonagall had said may or may not be important to know for their NEWTS. Which were over a _year_ away, so Sirius saw no point in listening now. He knew he'd get O for everything anyway, he always did. Tearing himself away from thoughts about these slightly less-than-imminent exams, Sirius picked his quill back up and wrote out his reply.

'_Us is the same us as always. And fun is... Fun. More enjoyable and less dusty than books. You should try it.' _Sirius' face now turned to a carefully calculated look which kept just the right balance between innocence and casual disinterest.

'_Fine. If you insist upon wrecking my education. May it be on your conscience.'_

As Remus passed over this latest scrap of parchment, Sirius had to hold back a crafty little grin. All was –as yet– going according to his vague inkling of a plan. Perfect. He leaned luxuriously back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head, pleased by the way Remus' Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he looked at the newly-exposed strip of pale skin above the low waistband of Sirius' trousers. Yes, all was currently going well.


	2. Waiting

**This took much longer than intended; sorry about that.  
Enjoy.**

The minute hand on Sirius' watch appeared to be broken. What must have been at LEAST ten minutes had passed since he'd last checked the time, but it had barely moved at all. He glowered at the small, shiny metallic face as it gazed blankly back up at him, taunting him with reflections of his own scowling face. "Bloody tosser," Sirius muttered darkly to himself, returning his limited attention to the old muggle comic, which he'd filched off a third year, sitting in his lap.

"Who's a tosser?" James said, falling into the armchair next to Sirius' and dumping his rucksack on the floor.

Sirius sighed. "You, Jamesy, we've been over this before," he said with a long-suffering air, eyeing his friend pityingly.

James' snort was a little too forceful, and caused him to fumble for the hanky he just knew was in a pocket _somewhere_. "Obviously. I mean aside from me, you prat."

Glancing at his watch again, Sirius shook his head slowly. "Oh, Prongs, these accusations are hurtful. You know you're the only tosser for me," he said, and gave James a positively glowing look, which would have reduced most of his usual female quarry to so many puddles of muck.

James reached out and patted Sirius' head, and then pushed himself up onto his feet with his rucksack slung back across his shoulder. "I don't know what rubbish you're on about," he said, "but I'm off to help Longbottom. Silly bloke was cheeky to my dear Minerva and now he has to write about six feet on Gamp's bloody laws of transfiguration."

Sirius chuckled. "So he's paying you to be his ruler, then?"

With a shrug, James grinned over his shoulder as he turned to stroll away. "Easy money is easy money, mate."

As James left, Sirius' silly grin faded and he resumed his vigil. He knew it was stupid, because he knew that Remus would come. He would come now, and – if Sirius played his cards right – the bookish teenager might even come later on, the curtains drawn tight around his four-poster and the rest of the dormitory (bar Sirius, of course, but Remus wouldn't know that) fast asleep.

Just as this tantalising thought meandered through Sirius' mind with a couple of stops to wrestle the venomous tentacula, the young werewolf himself stumbled through the portrait hole and into the common room itself.

Remus self-consciously patted down the robes he was still wearing, a light flush taking its place across his cheeks, and ignored the sniggers of a couple of fifth-years who were sitting near the portait hole. He took a cursory glance around the room before spotting Sirius lying across his usual armchair in the corner of the common room which the Marauders had claimed for themselves.

Having seen all this from the corner of his eye, Sirius lifted the comic up to obscure most of his face. He feigned interest in the adventures of a little boy who seemed to have the curious name of 'Oor Wullie' (whatever that meant, crazy Scots), and sprawled himself further across the chair; Sirius made sure that his slightly too-small Weird Sisters t-shirt had ridden up to his bellybutton before he ceased his squirming.

The frown on Sirius' face was almost real by the time Remus had returned from changing into regular clothes in the dormitory. He'd actually started reading the comic, and was only growing increasing baffled at what the characters were actually saying; their speech was written in the Scottish vernacular, and Sirius had no bloody idea what was going on.

Because of this, it took a few seconds for Sirius to notice that Remus had stopped just short of the armchair adjacent to his own. Risking a quick glance without turning his head, Sirius was pleasantly surprised to note the frozen, deer-in-headlights look on Remus' face. When he flicked his eyes back to the comic, Sirius heard Remus swallow with an audible click, which brought an unintentional crafty smile to his face.

Remus seemed to take a couple of seconds to pull himself together before he flopped down into the chair beside Sirius' at last. When the dark-haired boy didn't look up at him, Remus cleared his throat. "What on earth are you reading, Pads?"

Lowering the comic book to peer distractedly over it, Sirius tilted his head non-committally. "Just something I found lying around," he said, and disappeared behind it again so as to hide his smirk.

"Oh," said Remus quietly, and fell silent.

For what felt like another age, Sirius let Remus sit and stew in his own juicy, undoubtably muddled thoughts, before putting the poor boy out of his misery. "So," Sirius said, closing the comic and at last casting aside all those indecipherable phrases. "Are we ready to go off and have an adventure?"

Remus' eyes snapped up from where they had been lingering, down by the queue of coarse dark hairs which wandered their way from Sirius' bellybutton to the waistband of his dark jeans. "Yes," he said, visibly flustered and blushing again, "I'm raring to go."


End file.
